How do you help kids deal with fear?

We are a news-watching and news-reading family. Between the recent earthquakes in China and tornadoes and flooding here in the Midwest, I am finding that the news is creating a whole new category of fear among my children. Of course, we turn off the television if they are showing graphic images of destruction, and we do not parade such stories in front of our little ones. But they are not living in a vacuum. They know these things are happening. And often, they find out details I would not have shared with them.

One such case happened when my 7-year-old was sitting in the seat opposite mine at the breakfast table the other day. He began reading the headlines on the back of my newspaper. He said aloud, "Four children killed as Tornado hits Iowa Boy Scout Camp." I immediately put down the paper to a barrage of questions from my children. At the root of it all was disbelief, "How could this happen?!?"

For that question, I'm afraid I don't have a good enough answer.

Since they inadvertently learned about schools collapsing in China and Boy Scouts being swept away by tornadoes, my children have developed a strong fear of the forces of the earth. When we have severe weather, especially thunderstorms, they call out for us in the night. It is something we haven't dealt with in this way since our oldest was 2 years old. Granted, we've had some real boomers in the past month. But the fear that has emerged in our children is much stronger than we could have anticipated.

Recently, there were strong storms involving hail and torrential rain. They happened during the day, while my husband was at work. As we kept an eye on the weather channel, with the sound turned low, the children worried about Daddy. "We know we have a safe basement to go to, but what about Daddy?" I told them to pray for God to take care of Daddy and assured them that God knows us and cares for us. I was amazed at the fervent prayer that commenced and continued until the storm had eased.

I think what may be happening is that my children, especially the older ones, are beginning to understand what we adults know, but keep buried deep -- that in the eyes of the world, we are really quite small. We may be masters of our own universe, but that only applies to those few things we can control.

"I cannot control the weather." I often say, when called upon to make it less hot or less rainy or warmer or to make it snow.

In the aftermath of a disaster, I repeat the words of Mr. Rogers. "Look for the helpers." I firmly believe that God always sends helpers, and that we must be ready and paying attention, so that when it is our turn to be the helpers, we are ready.

A relinquishing of control, a turning to a power larger than ourselves, and a dedication to find and to be the hands of help when people are in need do not begin to explain why tragic things happen. But they are a start, and I hope they will be enough to see my children through.

For right now, though, I will just try to be ready when the sky looks stormy and they call out for me in the night.

Midwest Mom

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To share your family's stories on dealing with fear, click on "comments" below this article. I would love to hear from you.

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A Memory to Share

Mr. Rogers once said, "I find out more and more every day how important it is for people to share their memories."


I have always liked Mr. Rogers. When he was alive, he found simple ways to talk about feelings and events that were, in reality, not simple at all. As he appeared from our television (when the rabbit ears were positioned correctly) he seemed very wise, for someone in a cardigan.

Mr. Rogers was from my mother's hometown of Latrobe, Pennsylvania. His calming, genteel drawl is actually the local accent there, which may be a key to the reason I liked him. It may also be why, even as an adult, I find Latrobe a comfortable place to be.

On a recent trip "out East", my family made a stop in that wonderful little town to visit with my mother's oldest living relative. She is a widowed Great Aunt, just a few years shy of 100. She is a joy. She is also one of the sharpest people you'll find.

It was wonderful to see my three children interacting with her in completely different ways. The youngest, my 2-year-old daughter, immediately reached up to feel her hair and touched her face to see how soft it was. My Aunt was elated at her tenderness.

Later in the visit, my 5-year-old came up for a nice close look. He said over his shoulder to me (as if my Aunt weren't there), "Mommy, why does she look so... old?"

To her credit, my Aunt laughed. "Children are so honest, aren't they?" she said, in her Mr. Rogers voice. I put my son on the spot by asking how old he thought she really was. He demurred.

"I couldn't say." A pause. "Oh, maybe about 79."

My Aunt was supremely complimented. "He says I look 79!" she repeated several times during the rest of our visit. "But I get that a lot." she beamed.

My oldest boy, just finishing first grade, had a different take on visiting someone so close to a century old. He wanted to know about her history. And as every boy knows, history begins with your first car.

My Aunt told us about her Nash, purchased in Europe after the end of World War II. "Jimmy [her husband] told me I could have any car I wanted. They had Mercedes and BMWs, even back then. But I was such an American girl. I had to have an American car. So, there I was, driving through Europe in that Nash. Everywhere we went, people knew us by that car."

As children do, they soon decided it was time to explore. So, my husband took them for a walk to get a cookie from the nurses and to meet the other residents. I was glad to be left alone with my Aunt for a bit.

When I was a baby, she and our family lived closer. My Great Uncle Jimmy had passed away, and my Aunt enjoyed visiting with us, holding me, teaching me things. She called me 'precious'. Now that we were alone, she addressed me with that old name.

"Oh, Precious. Doesn't it just amaze you how fast the time goes? I remember holding you when you were the same age your daughter is now." She put her hands on her temples and her eyes were wet. "Life is just so wonderful, isn't it?"

All I could think of was how grateful I am for this woman and for the opportunity to share my family with her and hear her stories and share our time together. I feel pride in knowing that I have a connection with such a remarkable woman as my Aunt.

Of course, I will always wish that I lived closer or stayed longer. But to me, it is so important to maintain the connection between generations. And someday, my children will remember my "79" year-old Aunt with soft hair and skin and a beige Nash.

But, even if they don't remember, I will. It is a memory I will love to share.

Midwest Mom

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